


“...disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business....”

by notjustmom



Series: Tom Robbins Remix [22]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Post return, Tom Robbins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 19:42:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14172084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: a bit of Mycroft and John...





	“...disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business....”

John glanced up from the Sunday paper to find Mycroft standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back. As always was the case, his silent presence loomed larger than his actual physical form. They had never had what anyone could call an easy relationship, as Mycroft resented the fact of John's existence, while John couldn't begin to understand how Mycroft and Sherlock were in any way related, let alone cut from the same genetic code. But they seemed to have arrived at a sort of uneasy truce, when Sherlock had been hurt, and John had taken over the role of chief protector, dish washer and buyer of milk. During Sherlock's 'time away,' Mycroft had paid John the respect usually reserved for a widowed spouse, and he had mostly avoided the flat since his brother's return, giving them time and space. Today's unannounced visit was unusual to say the least.

"Most people knock," he muttered, not unkindly. "But then you're not most people. Tea?"

"No, I won't be staying long... yes, please."

John rolled his eyes, laid his paper aside and went into the kitchen. "Sherlock is at the morgue -" he started, then realised Mycroft was there precisely because Sherlock wasn't. Of course, he had always known where Sherlock was at all times, but ever since his return six months previously, though the surveillance in the flat itself had disappeared, John sensed that Mycroft kept a closer eye on his brother than ever before. For someone who had little use for sentiment, or anything that couldn't be explained with cold, unrelieved brutal logic, Mycroft seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to his brother. 

"How is he?" Mycroft asked quietly after he accepted the offered mug with a nod and finally turned to face John.

"In what way?" John asked, arms crossed and posture reminiscent of his time overseas. It wasn't something he intended, but in Mycroft's presence, he always felt a bit hedgehogish - a bit pricklier than necessary, he supposed, but he never felt at ease around his brother-in-law, perhaps it was his coldness, or posh haughtiness that pushed his buttons, or maybe it was how the flat seemed to darken and grow quiet when Mycroft made the rare appearance. The natural contented buzz of the sitting room especially lost its warmth the moment Mycroft stepped into the flat, as if it sensed an antagonist at the very least, an arch enemy, if one asked Billy and Hildy, who had no use for the elder Holmes.

"In general, is he, hmm, happy, content, at least?"

John studied the man in front of him and took his time responding. "I'd say he was, yes. Any reason to think otherwise?"

Mycroft took a sip of tea, well aware of John's scrutiny. "No, I was just, curious?"

"Curious?" John snorted. "Since when - sorry, that was rude of me."

"No, quite understandable. To be honest, I've never seen the attraction of relationships, and when Sherlock made the unlikely decision to invite you to share this flat - he had - I had placed people here before, as I was concerned for his well-being, but he had a talent for finding their weaknesses and sending them fleeing after a couple of days, and these were well-trained agents, not just -"

"Ordinary blokes."

Mycroft made a face that could have been his attempt at a grin, but he was too out of practice, and it became merely a gargoylish grimace.

"When was the last time you honestly smiled, Mycroft?"

"Sorry?"

"Sherlock told me he deleted smiling."

Mycroft cringed and stared into his mug. John started as it was the first time he had seen Mycroft react in an emotional way since shortly before Sherlock jumped out of their lives.

"As a child, he was always smiling, laughing, he was the most joyful person I ever knew, he seemed to see things I couldn't. He would entertain himself for hours, chattering away to -" Mycroft shrugged. "He connected to the world in a way I never could, and I suppose I was jealous. I didn't understand. He didn't need me, from the time he was three, he functioned quite well enough on his own, but when he started school, his peers thought him odd, would bully him, make him doubt himself, his gifts..."

"Mycroft - why are you here?"

"I - the moment I was certain that you loved him, that night when I saw you sitting there watching him sleep in hospital, holding his hand -"

John nodded.

"I knew before then. I knew the first time I saw him with you, that his, I suppose 'magic' is the only word for it, had returned. Something in his eyes, the way he watched you, took the time to listen to you, it took him longer than I thought it would, both of you - and when he had to leave, when he made the choice to - you stayed. Most people -"

"I'm not most people."

Mycroft raised his eyes to meet John's and whispered, "no. I know that, John. I'm not good at thanking people, just ask Anthea - I give her a ridiculous bonus and a ham every Christmas, but, I've never thanked her - not really. I don't know how to - most people can connect, have relationships - I'm not fortunate enough to be one of those people. But, you saved my brother from a similar fate, and I just wanted to thank you for that. So, thank you. And thank you for the tea - I have to be going - wars to start, you know." He placed his empty mug on the desk, picked up his umbrella and started to walk to the door.

"Of course. You know, you are welcome to have dinner with us, anytime -"

Mycroft's long stride stuttered and he nearly fell over. "You don't mean that." 

John sighed. "I do. I don't have an easy relationship with my sister - alright, as you very well know, we haven't spoken in twenty years - so I have no business offering you advice, but I do know your brother, and I think it would mean a lot to him if you made an effort -"

"You really think so." Something in Mycroft's voice made John look at him closely and he nodded and offered Mycroft his hand. Mycroft stared at it briefly, before taking it in his own larger hand, and holding it carefully, then letting go after a long moment. Mycroft cleared his throat and mumbled, "I will check my schedule, and - thank you, John." He turned on his heel and silently left the flat, closing the door behind him.

 

"Don't start." John muttered to the room in general, as the soft hum returned to the flat the moment the street door slammed.

"John -"

"Hildegarde."

"That was sweet. Insane, but very sweet, dear."

"He's just lonely." John sighed as he dropped into his chair and tried to go back to reading his paper. "Maybe he just misses his little brother."

"You realise you are talking about Mycroft Holmes." Billy drawled crossly.

"Yes, Billy - I do."

"He let Sherl -"

"No. He tried to talk him out of it, you know that as well as I do."

"Still -"

"Give him a chance, hmmm?"

"He doesn't -"

"No, he doesn't know how to ask for what he needs, but I didn't either when I first came here, and yet you still gave me a chance."

Billy sighed in resignation. "Hildy? What sayest thou, my lady?"

After a long, thiughtful pause, Hildegarde snorted. "Don't get all 16th century on me, love - very well, John, I suppose, he deserves the same consideration... but -"

"Yes, yes, I know - now, can I please read my bloody paper, in peace for once?"

 

"Dinner?"

"Yes."

"My brother, in our flat -" John kissed one freckle, then another, and another until Sherlock giggled and begged for mercy. "Alright, alright, Bumble, dinner it shall be, though I'm not sure -"

"He's your brother."

"And...?"

"And he misses you."

"Really?" Sherlock flipped over onto his side and searched John's eyes. "And what was the consensus -"

"They are willing to give him a chance."

"Hmmm... very well." Sherlock kissed John's nose, and smiled tenderly at him. "You."

"What about me?"

"You are remarkable, Bumble."

"Yer not so bad yerself."

"Oh, really?" Sherlock smirked gently at him.

John placed his hands into Sherlock's curls and drew him closer. "You are my heart, Bee, my one, my only."

"John -"

"Shhhh... Hildy's playing our song... "

And so she was.


End file.
